The Napalm Directive
"From now on, I look forward to working with you, Production Chief."
"Leave it to me, Your Excellency."
I shook hands with the Production Chief. Today marked exactly one month since the survivors had taken refuge in the Ark. Finally, the Ark had a department to oversee and manage all production.
Since the Administrative Department had not yet been established, the sequence of things could be called somewhat jumbled. Still, administrative tasks remained within the AI's computational capacity. Matters the AI could not handle would fall to the Security Department. If even they proved insufficient, I would deal with them myself. For the sake of survival, curricula and manuals could be rewritten at any time.
"Then, from now on, you will manage the production of napalm for the incineration operation. I'm counting on you."
"Yes, sir. I will not disappoint you."
No one believed that buildings constructed from 22nd-century advanced materials would simply burn away. Yet it was common knowledge that organic life could not withstand flame—especially not makeshift Molotov cocktails, but military-grade napalm bombs capable of engulfing entire urban districts. Even creatures armed with blades that could shear through armor plating and bodies larger than buildings would be reduced to ash when exposed to temperatures exceeding several thousand degrees, provided they were composed of protein. Once the inferno subsided, ground forces equipped with new weaponry would crush whatever remnants survived, like eggs beneath a boot.
"Now, let's be on our way. There is much to do."
The thought already brought a sense of relief. Watching those monsters thrash inside the burning barrels through the cameras—how could anyone remain unmoved?
"Ah, yes. Then I shall take my leave."
The Production Chief bowed and departed, closing the door behind him. It seemed the high officials had not been wrong when they claimed he would wield authority greater than any president.
After sending him off, I sat at my office desk and began reviewing the various Ark metrics displayed on the hologram. Among them, the indicators concerning the residents' needs drew my attention most. Aside from elevated stress levels, overall life satisfaction and happiness fortunately exceeded the average. The high stress was likely due to the relentless engagements with monsters in such a short span of time. Even civilians found it difficult to sleep soundly when soldiers deployed to the surface day after day and returned bearing casualties. Though a month had passed since life in the Ark began, one month was far too brief a period for people to forget their wounds.
"Hmm... How to reduce the stress?"
The most "efficient" solution would be to distribute narcotics, but that option was dismissed without further consideration. A significant portion of the citizenry was already making normal use of recreational and entertainment facilities; any artificial intervention on my part would likely produce the opposite effect.
"Let's see... Ah, that should work."
Once the upcoming incineration operation concluded and ground forces deployed to rescue survivors, there would be no further need to enter the city district—at least for the foreseeable future. At that point, a victory celebration would be held for the exhausted soldiers. With the population so small, grandeur was impossible, yet splendor remained achievable. Were there not ample party and banquet supplies stockpiled within the Ark? It would also grant survivors who had lost family, friends, and loved ones an opportunity to openly honor the soldiers who had fought and triumphed against the monsters. In every sense, it was killing two birds with one stone.
*
"Did you hear? They're going to torch the entire city district with napalm."
"I heard. But will the shelters survive?"
"Heh. They were built to keep politicians alive, so they must be sturdy. Or are you planning to go out there and open every door yourself?"
"...That's the same as telling me to die."
"Bwahahaha!"
Time truly was a healer. The soldiers' previously subdued atmosphere was gradually returning to normal. Except for the most severely affected, the non-commissioned officers' dedication had helped the men shake off their worst memories, and they now threw themselves into training with renewed focus in preparation for the next mission.
In the Ark's training grounds, infantry were undergoing retraining to familiarize themselves with the new armaments developed and issued by the maintenance teams.
"Fix bayonets!"
Clack-clack-clack!
At the instructor's command, the folding bayonets snapped forward in unison. When the recruits next set the rifle butts against the ground, the fully extended bayonets brought the new rifles to a total length of approximately 170 centimeters.
"In actual combat, you must manipulate the bayonet even faster. Understood?!"
"""Yes!"""
"Good. Next is powered exoskeleton equipping drill!"
"""Agh!"""
When the robots delivered the new powered exoskeletons, the recruits moved as one, positioning themselves with their backs to the upright frames. Powered exoskeletons could not be donned like ordinary clothing; the frame had to be equipped first, after which gear was secured over it. The speed at which a soldier could don the exoskeleton was one of the primary benchmarks of 22nd-century infantry proficiency.
"Begin equipping!"
"""Begin equipping!"""
At the order, the recruits inserted their limbs into the exoskeleton's frames as trained, locked the connections, and tightened their arms to draw the spinal protector flush against their bodies. The instant the protector made contact, microscopic needles extended from it, piercing the cartilage between each recruit's vertebrae to synchronize their spinal nerves with the exoskeleton.
"Urgh?"
"Urgh!"
The recruits recoiled at the unfamiliar pain and synesthesia, yet the nerve stabilizers injected through the needles quickly calmed them. The instructor smiled with satisfaction at how swiftly they had equipped the frames, while the recruits tested their new lightness by swinging their arms and leaping experimentally.
"Everyone, at ease! Basic combat training begins now. Before we start, secure your gear!"
"""Agh!"""
After several minutes, judging that their bodies had begun to adapt, the instructor ordered them to secure their equipment and watched closely as they worked. Though they fumbled at first, the exoskeleton's interface provided real-time data and they had studied the procedure through training videos and images; no one failed to complete the attachment, even if some were slower than others.
"Damn it! Ten minutes, you maggots! If you don't want to become monster fodder, finish securing your gear in under three minutes—no matter if the sky falls or the earth opens beneath you. Understood?!"
"""Agh!"""
"Unit, attention! Move out to the firing range!"
*
"The soldiers are adapting quickly. Is it because they're all so young?"
With my own pathetic forty-year-old physique, I could never have kept pace with such grueling drills. Ah, where had my youth gone? Beginning as a civil servant and rising to Controller could be called a successful career path, yet if I had found time to build a family, I would not feel so alone now.
Returning to the matter at hand, reviewing the training footage of both recruits and veterans through the cameras confirmed the obvious: the non-commissioned officers in charge were performing their duties adequately. The soldiers had adapted rapidly to the new weapons, and those accustomed to the heavier legacy models generally viewed the lighter, more agile designs favorably. Due to the tight schedule, crew-served weapons such as medium and light machine guns had to remain unchanged, and meaningful improvements to such standardized equipment would have been extremely difficult anyway.
All that remained was to wait for sufficient napalm to be produced to incinerate the entire city district. Napalm itself was not difficult to manufacture, but converting it into rockets and bombs required additional processing time. How much that timeline could be shortened would directly reflect the Production Department's performance in their evaluations.
It went without saying that, as Controller, I held appointment and dismissal authority over every department. Officials would receive rewards or punishments according to their results—fairly, and without leniency.
"Haa... It finally feels as though things are moving properly."
The thought that the monsters swarming the city district—creatures that had tormented me even in my dreams—would soon be reduced to ash brought a sense of relief so profound it felt as though ten years of accumulated indigestion were finally dissolving. Yet complacency was forbidden; variables could emerge at any moment. For instance, if the monsters possessed the ability to self-replicate. I could only hope that would not occur.
At any rate, once the napalm was ready, everything would proceed without further delay. I had never imagined I would one day order an entire city district burned and find satisfaction in the prospect, but as the old saying went, living long enough brought all manner of experiences.